In my dreams last night, we
the planet, but also
(especially)
humanity,
teetered on the brink
of a black hole
time spun out of control
planes fell into the oblivion beyond
and everything shifted sideways
but the light changed, too,
so that in our terror
we were distracted,
bathed in rainbows.

The stories we tell about ourselves
hang like stars in the night sky
infinite, glowing bright,
until they wheel onward, unseen
to the other side of consciousness
returning one day with memories uncovered
for people new to us to greet

What stories do you weave about yourself
which constellations do you show which story do you leave hidden, silent
to wish upon like evening’s first star?

We control the setting
paint our truths across the splash of night
and leave our thoughts about our own dark-sky corners
for solitude’s consideration
sharing only on those special nights
when a bright conjunction is framed by twilight blue
when the pinpricks align
and the crescent pauses in the sunset sky
when a twinkling streaks across indigo
flashing for a moment before it disappears
when wonder and intimacy overcome fear and doubt
when, in colonizing another – their skin, their eyes, their heart –
we bare all.

Paper and Salt attempts to recreate and reinterpret dishes that iconic authors discuss in their letters, diaries and fiction. Part food and recipe blog, part historical discussion, part literary fangirl-ing.